


Knock Three Times (On the Ceiling If You Want Me)

by poisonivory



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's downstairs neighbor sings showtunes (badly) at all hours, eats weird-smelling food, and never stops <i>talking</i>.</p>
<p>Matt falls in love long before they actually meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock Three Times (On the Ceiling If You Want Me)

_“Good morning, good_ morn- _ing! We’ve talked the whole night through! Good morning, good morning, to you!”_

Matt groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. It did nothing to block out the sound. He was pretty good at tuning out extraneous noise by now - he’d had to learn early on, if he ever wanted to sleep again. Car alarms, dogs barking, babies crying to be fed; he could filter it all out.

But the guy in apartment 5A was un-filter-out-able.

_“When the band began to play the stars were shining bright! Now the milkman’s on his way, it’s too late to say good night!”_

Every morning. Every damn morning. He sang while he showered, while he got dressed, while he made breakfast. And it was always showtunes.

How could anyone be that _cheerful?_

Matt rolled over and winced as it jarred his bruised ribs. Of course, 5A probably hadn’t been out until three in the morning, knocking drug dealers’ heads together. In fact, Matt _knew_ he hadn’t been, because he’d been able to hear 5A’s faint snores when he let himself in last night. Apparently 5A’s bed was pretty much directly below Matt’s.

Still. There was a time for showtunes, and that was eight p.m., on a stage a few blocks over in the theater district, when one was a professional singer who’d been hired for such purposes - _not_ first thing in the morning, and not when one’s singing sounded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Maybe Matt should tell him. Just leave a little anonymous note on his door. _Dear 5A: You are a terrible singer. Please stop. Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen._

No, 5A would probably try to figure out who’d left it, and that might mean actually _interacting_ with the guy. They’d never come face-to-face in the six months or so Matt had been living in his apartment, which was how Matt wanted it - he didn’t actually know any of his neighbors by name, just distant voices and cooking smells. It was easier that way, with no one to notice Matt’s odd hours or frequent injuries.

He sighed and listened to the squeak of 5A turning the knobs of his shower to shut; the dwindling patter of water against the enamel; the soft brush of terrycloth against skin. 5A would be dressed and gone in a half hour, and Matt might be able to eke out another hour or two of sleep before he felt too guilty not to drag himself to the office. Karen was used to his coming in late, but he knew she wasn’t a fan of being alone, and there was little she could do if a client came in while he wasn’t there.

Half an hour, though. He could make it through half an hour of too-cheerful caterwauling. He _could_.

He just had to be strong.

_“Good morning, good morning, to you!”_

*

Matt rubbed his nose, but it didn’t, of course, clear the smell away. Matt wasn’t sure anything short of Greek _fire_ could clear the smell away at this point.

He’d never met 5A, but he knew a lot of things about him. One of those things was that 5A really liked food with strong flavors. He didn’t tend to cook, which might be a blessing if his cooking was anything like his singing, but he ordered in a lot, and always things with scents that _lingered_. Curry, kimchee, chimichanga. Burgers with bacon and bleu cheese. Pizza with anchovies and roasted garlic.

Tonight it was pad thai, which was relatively inoffensive as far as smells went, but for some reason this particular entree had decided to linger in Matt’s sinuses. The shrimp didn’t help, of course. And...was that extra chili oil? Cilantro? Something was tingling in Matt’s nose that he couldn’t place. There were a dozen Thai restaurants in the neighborhood, and he’d eaten his way through any number of takeout containers of pad thai, but there was something different about this one.

He snorted, as if that would clear the smell away, and moved his own dinner closer, skimming the fingers of his free hand over the pages from one of his current case files. But the scent of grilled chicken breast, brown rice, and kale couldn’t drown out fish sauce and toasted peanuts, and he kept finding his fingers tracing the same words over and over again, fork forgotten in his other hand as he picked out the fragrances of lime and good honey. If he concentrated, he could even hear 5A’s chopsticks clacking together.

“Dammit,” he muttered when he caught himself doing it a third time, and gave up. Gathering up his plate and papers, he hurried up the stairs and out the roof access door. He’d eat outside, where the stench of the city would drown out 5A’s distracting takeout.

It _almost_ worked, too.

*

5A made a _lot_ of phone calls.

“I can’t believe he’s starting kindergarten already, Candace,” he said Tuesday evening. “When are you guys coming into the city? I need to teach my nephew how to throw a curveball...What do you mean, yours is better than mine?...I am _too_ a great athlete! This is slander, and my many participation awards will attest to that...Mom and Dad did _not_ throw them out!”

“Well, listen, are we throwing Joe that going away party or not?” he said on Thursday afternoon. “Yeah, yeah, I know we’re gonna do drinks after work, but is anyone bringing in a cake or anything?...No, no, I’ll do it, I know a great bakery on 53rd...Yeah, I already got the card...Yeah, of course I got the partners to sign it, I am _amazing_...Really? They said that? Huh. Sucks for Joe.”

“Because we have a justice system for a reason, Dad!” he said on Saturday morning, when Matt was desperately trying to ignore him so he could sleep in. “You can’t break whatever laws you want just because other people are breaking the law _worse_...No, I _don’t_ think Captain America and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen are essentially the same thing!”

Matt opened his eyes. Huh.

“Because I can tell you Captain America’s name and rank and where he was born,” 5A went on. “Because he reports to...I don’t know, he must report to _someone_ in the military or SHIELD, otherwise they wouldn’t let him run around calling himself Captain _America_. If he went rogue, there’d be some oversight. This guy’s _already_ gone rogue, and who do we report that to? The cops? The cops are _already_ trying to catch him!”

Matt scowled. He had not “gone rogue.” Half the papers in town were just more interested in fearmongering than the truth. And he was going by _Daredevil_ now, thank you very much.

“Yeah, I know what Brett says. I’m not saying the guy’s not on the side of the angels. I’m saying I’m opposed to vigilantism,” 5A said. “...Right, but that’s what the police are for...But just because some cops are corrupt doesn’t give any two-bit ninja the right to take the law into their own hands. I mean, the dude literally runs around _dressed like a devil_. He’s clearly not playing with a full deck, and you want to give him a medal?”

Matt actually _opened his mouth_ to retort before remembering that 5A was talking to his father, on the phone, in another apartment, and had never actually _met_ Matt. But seriously, a two-bit ninja? Not playing with a full deck? Matt had a feeling 5A wouldn’t be so down on Daredevil if he’d actually _seen_ some of the crime Daredevil was fighting every night.

“Yes, Dad, if I were being mugged and Daredevil showed up to rescue me, _obviously_ I wouldn’t say, ‘No thank you, move along,’” 5A said, sounding exasperated. “But Brett also told us what Daredevil did to some of the guys he brought in. The man is _violent_.” Matt could hear him settling onto his couch, the give in the cushions as he sat. “I’m all for rapists and murderers getting the crap kicked out of them, but what happens when he goes beyond that? If he starts killing? Or if he goes after someone innocent?...It’s not that, Dad. It’s just that we don’t know anything _about_ him. No one does. Who’s there pulling Daredevil back from the brink, you know?”

Matt frowned and rolled onto his side. He didn’t _need_ someone pulling him back from the brink. He knew what he was doing. One noisy neighbor didn’t change that.

But he did his best to tune out the rest of the conversation after that.

*

_“Dream of now...dream of then...dream of a love song that might have been…”_

“I’m _trying_ ,” Matt grumbled into his pillow. But dreaming was out of the question, especially when 5A had picked a key completely outside of his range.

"You are _not_ a soprano," he told 5A, flopping over onto his back.

_"Do I love you? Oh yes, I love you...and I'll bravely tell you...but only when you dream again..."_ The water of the shower splattering against 5A's skin made an offbeat counterpoint.

"If you really want me to dream again, you might want to consider letting me _sleep_ ," Matt said conversationally. He might as well get up, though. He hadn't been out that late and it would be good to get a jump on work early today. Well, on time.

5A’s voice broke on a high note, and Matt could hear him laughing at himself. Well, at least he didn’t seem to have any illusions about his abilities. Matt had a faint hope that that would be the end of the recital, but 5A just tried the line again, apparently under the impression that increased volume made up for not actually reaching the correct pitch.

“I’m leaving that note on your door,” Matt said. “I’m actually going to do it. It’s performing a public service.” But he didn’t move, just lay there letting his ears filter in the sounds of the building and the city waking up around his unfortunate private concert. He counted nine joggers, fourteen dog-walkers, and seven kids boarding a school bus three blocks away. Tires screeched outside and a bicyclist's bell dinged in time with an angry shout.

_“Do I love you? Oh yes, I love you…”_

Matt sat up, pulling a deep breath into his lungs. The bakery around the corner was pulling a tray of croissants out of the oven, and the air had that light, crisp early morning feeling.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

_“Will I ever tell you? Ah, no…”_

*

“No, I told Johnson that his supposed ‘expert witness’ is a quack but he didn’t listen to me. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just...Right, right, but if the plaintiff tries _that_ they know they’ll have a countersuit on their hands, and that’s the last thing they want.”

Matt froze. He’d been listening idly to 5A’s phone chatter while washing dishes, but it was only with the word “countersuit” that he started actually _processing_ them.

“There absolutely _is_ precedent!” 5A said. “Adams v. Winchester, 2013...no, 2012. Except our plaintiff’s case is even more flimsy. Trust me, it’s open-and-shut.”

5A was a _lawyer_.

Matt turned off the water so he could hear the conversation better, a plate still held in his sudsy hands, trying to figure out where 5A worked. Some big corporate firm, it sounded like, which made Matt wrinkle his nose - that kind of lawyer tended to be more interested in a salary with a lot of zeroes in it than justice. 5A couldn’t be making _that_ much money if he was living in Matt’s neighborhood, but he had a relatively young voice - maybe he was just starting out.

He was smart, though. Matt didn’t know the details of the case, but from what he could pick up from 5A’s end of the conversation, 5A knew it inside and out, and he seemed to have an impressive grasp of relevant precedent. He also made a few disgusted noises when talking about what sounded like somewhat shady loopholes. “I’m not doing that,” he said at one point. “Johnson can if he wants, but I’m not using some poor old woman to...Yes, I _will_ tell the partners that! I won the Langford case for them, they love me.”

Matt didn’t know who Johnson was, but he already didn’t like him very much.

"All right. Yeah. I'll see you on Monday." 5A hung up, and a minute later Matt heard a cheery whistle floating up through the floorboards. 5A whistled better than he sang, it seemed.

A lawyer. That explained his issues with Daredevil; Matt was well aware of the contradictions between his day job and his...extracurricular activities. He wondered if he’d encountered 5A before, if he’d passed him in the courtroom and hadn’t realized it. He’d have thought he’d recognize 5A’s voice, but maybe only if he was singing.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. There were thousands upon thousands of lawyers in New York City; they’d probably never run into each other. And if they did, the most that would happen was that 5A would recognize Matt as his reclusive upstairs neighbor, and Matt would be stuck making uncomfortable small talk in the hallway for a few weeks until he could politely make it clear that he wasn’t looking for a new best friend. The fact that he was also Daredevil, and that he knew all of 5A’s very firm opinions on Daredevil, would never even come up. _Could_ never even come up, because 5A didn’t know.

But he knew he’d be listening very closely for a familiar voice the next few times he was in court.

*

“Karen, were you able to get that witness statement translated into Braille?” Matt called from his office.

“Yep, here you go,” Karen said. Her heels clicked across the floorboards and he heard the soft _whuff_ of a folder hitting his desk. “Right in front of you.”

“Thanks.”

Karen’s footsteps receded. Matt opened the folder and skimmed his fingers over the statement. _“...two gunshots...feared for my life...thank goodness the police arrived just in time…”_

_Just in time...you found me just in time...before you came my time was running low…_

Matt couldn’t help an annoyed snort. 5A had been singing...whatever that song was this morning, and now it seemed like it only took the slightest reminder to send it running through his head again. Matt didn’t even _know_ the song or where it was from.

He pursed his lips and refocused on the statement. There was definitely a discrepancy here with the state’s other witness; the timing was completely off between the two, which gave Matt ample room to argue reasonable doubt. That honestly might be enough on its own to get his client off, not that he was going to stop there.

_Now you’re here...and now I know just where I’m going…_

He pulled out the police report and thumbed through it. He seemed to recall something about it being dark and hard to identify the thief - his client, allegedly, although Matt knew for a fact his client was innocent - but he’d shied away from that angle, since juries didn’t always respond well to a blind man highlighting the difficulty of visually identifying someone. But combined with the discrepancy in the timing…

“What song is that?” Karen asked.

Matt tilted his head in her direction. “Huh?”

“That song. You’ve been humming it all morning.” Her tone was warm - a smile. “It’s nice, whatever it is.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t even realized he was humming. “Uh...just something stuck in my head.”

_...For love came just in time...you found me just in time...and changed my lonely life that lovely day._

*

So Matt had a healthy intellectual curiosity about the world around him. That was a _good_ thing, right?

And yes, he might be a _little_ bit nosy and a _little_ bit obsessive, but those were useful traits for a lawyer. They helped him to be thorough, to ensure that he was always getting to the bottom of a case.

And really, it was important to be prepared for any eventuality in the courtroom. It wouldn’t do his clients any good for him to be surprised by coming face to face with his noisy downstairs neighbor during jury selection.

Which was why it was _totally reasonable_ for him to be researching his leasing company late into the night, trying to figure out what name was on the lease for apartment 5A.

Googling “hell’s kitchen realty tenant names” didn’t turn anything up. Neither did “664 10th avenue apartment 5A” or “664 10th avenue hell’s kitchen realty” or “hell’s kitchen lawyer langford case showtunes,” although he hadn’t actually expected that last one to do anything.

Then he got smart and tried Googling himself: “matthew murdock 664 10th avenue.”

And there it was: a list of all the tenants in his building. He scrolled down the list and let his screenreader rattle off the names. 4E: Maya Thompson. 4F: Fred and Mary Hollis. 4G: Maria Wu.

_5A: Franklin Nelson._

“Franklin Nelson,” he repeated out loud. It didn’t sound right, somehow. Oh, it was an impressively lawyerly name, to be sure, but there was something fussy about it, something that sounded like an un-fun great uncle and not the kind of guy who’d laugh at himself when his voice broke hitting a high note in the shower.

Still, Franklin Nelson was apparently his name, and whether Matt thought it fit or not didn’t actually have any bearing on that.

“Okay. Franklin Nelson,” Matt said, and shut down his computer. “Good to know.”

*

“...but just when the rabbits thought it was safe to come out and play, the Very Ferocious Lion woke up, and ROARED!”

Matt winced at the sound of three small voices shrieking in delighted mock-fear, and six tiny feet racing around the living room beneath his. Franklin was babysitting - one of the women who lived on the third floor had stopped by two hours ago and asked him if he could watch her kids as a last-minute favor. Matt would have made an excuse and fled, but Franklin had sounded overjoyed to have three small children - none of whom sounded older than six - tearing around his apartment all day.

“Rarrr, I’ve got you!” Franklin declared triumphantly, and one of the kids shrieked extra-loud. Matt cringed. It probably wouldn’t have been as piercing if he wasn’t listening so closely, but how could he concentrate on his audio book with this cacophony downstairs? “I’m gonna eat you up because I’m a hungry lion!”

“Nooo, you’re not a lion, you’re Mr. Foggy!” the kid giggled. Well, that was a weird nickname. Matt didn’t understand kids at _all_.

“I’m a Foggy lion,” Franklin insisted. “It’s like a dandelion, but bigger. And not a flower. Okay, it’s nothing like a dandelion.”

“Nooo, you’re a Foggy _person!_ ” one of the other kids said - a girl this time.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes!_ ” all three shrieked.

“So I _shouldn’t_ eat Darnell?”

“No!” cried the first kid - Darnell, presumably.

“Oh, well in that case…” Matt heard a pair of tiny sneakers hit the floor - Darnell being put back down. “Whew! That was close, you guys. What would I have told your mom?”

Matt realized suddenly that he was smiling. Well, sue him - it was cute.

The doorbell downstairs rang. “And speaking of your mom…” Franklin said, and there was a mini stampede of sneakered feet towards the door.

“Mommy Mommy Mommy!”

“We made a fort!”

“Mr. Foggy taught us a song about a ant!”

"I did a cartwheel!"

"Mr. Foggy was a lion but not a real lion but he said he was a real lion but he wasn't a real lion!"

"Mommy!"

Franklin laughed. "Did you get all that?"

"I'll sort it out once I get them home and settled down a bit," the mother, who Matt knew only as 3C, said. "Thanks so much for watching them, my sitter bailed on me and I couldn't cancel this appointment."

"Not a problem, Lisa. We had fun, didn't we, kids?"

A round of affirmative shrieks. Matt shook his head. Franklin had more patience than he did. Although honestly, once he'd started to sort out the different kids and their personalities, the noise wasn't nearly as irritating.

"You're an angel, Foggy Nelson," said 3C. There was a chorus of goodbyes from the kids, and the door closed.

_Foggy Nelson._ So it wasn't just a kid's weird attempt at saying "Franklin" - he went by Foggy. _Foggy._

"Foggy Nelson," Matt said, startling himself - he hadn't meant to say it out loud. It sounded better than Franklin, silly as it was. It sounded _right._

He listened to 5A - Franklin - _Foggy_ as he puttered around his apartment, straightening it up. Foggy Nelson, lawyer, terrible singer, pretend lion. Foggy Nelson, good samaritan.

Foggy Nelson, angel.

Matt supposed there were worse people to live below a devil.

*

_"Foggy."_

The woman said his name a lot. If Matt hadn't already figured it out, he would have learned it from her - scolding, teasing, cajoling. Moaning. _Foggy. Foggy. Mmm, Foggy Bear._

Her name was Marci; Foggy had gasped it enough times, murmured it low in her ear, but not so low Matt couldn't make it out. No, all the sounds from downstairs were very audible: his name, her name, and the soft, wet sounds of kissing.

Matt tried to tune it out. The singing was one thing; even the phone calls weren't particularly intimate. But this was different. This was _private_.

But he couldn't seem to focus on anything else, and he couldn't turn off his damn _hearing_ , sharp enough to hear her hair shaking free of its updo and falling over her shoulders. His heartbeat ratcheting up. The whisper of buttons through cloth.

" _Foggy_ ," she said, and Matt could hear pleasure vibrating through her voice like a harp being struck. "Mmm, Foggy, do _that_ again."

Soft, wet noises. A ripple of feminine laughter, and then Foggy _moaned_ , and Matt was _running_ for the closet, scrambling into his suit, slamming out the rooftop access door with his gloves tucked into his belt and his mask half on. The sun had only just started setting and it was still light out, Matt could feel by the warmth of it, lighter than he'd normally go out, but he'd rather face a gauntlet of police and amateur photographers than listen to _that_ for one second longer.

And if he was jangly and hot under his skin, if he hit harder and ran further than he normally did, if he was half-hard under his suit and couldn't shake it...well, adrenaline did funny things sometimes, that was all.

That was all.

But he stayed out past sunrise anyway.

*

He'd had to visit a client at her apartment, which meant he was walking home on a different route than he usually used when he smelled it. Sweet. Spicy. Utterly distracting.

He had to backtrack a few times before he found it. It was on the garden level, half-hidden below the sidewalk, the smell almost drowned out by the solvents from the dry cleaners next door. He was pretty sure there wasn't even a sign.

But the bell over the door jangled as he went in, and the smell was unmistakable. Fish sauce, garlic and scallions, shrimp and beef and peanut sauce.

"Can I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked. She had a faint accent and sounded a little surprised that he'd found his way there.

"Is this...this is a Thai restaurant, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes. Siam Kitchen."

He'd never heard of it. He'd lived in Hell's Kitchen all his life except college, and he'd never heard of it. "Can I get an order of shrimp pad thai to go, please?"

He waited, listened to her pass the order to the kitchen and the sizzle as the pre-chopped ingredients went into the hot pan, smelled the flavors as they built and melded into something more than the sum of their parts. By the time the woman at the counter hung the plastic straps of the takeout bag over his outstretched fingers he knew he'd been right. This was the place. This was the restaurant that made the pad thai he couldn't identify.

"Thank you for your business," she said, pleasantly neutral.

"Thank _you_ ," he said, and then, "Do you...this is strange, but do you know someone...a lawyer named Franklin Nelson? Foggy Nelson?"

"Oh, Foggy!" she said, and from the warmth in her voice Matt knew she was smiling ear to ear. "Of course. My favorite customer! How do you know him?"

"He's my neighbor." He didn't know him. But he was _learning_ him, reading him like a book.

"Say hello for me," she said. "May, tell him May says to come in. Actually, wait, wait just a moment." She slipped into the kitchen and then back. There was a tug on the bag in Matt's hand and something hit the bottom, a slight additional weight. "Mango sticky rice. Dessert. For Foggy's friend."

_Foggy's friend._ Matt tried on a smile. It felt strange, like a lie. "Thank you," he said, and left.

The smell, the warmth, seeped through the bag as Matt walked, up his arm until he could practically taste it. His mouth was watering by the time he reached his building. It was five flights of stairs, but he ran all the way.

_Foggy's friend._

He ate the entire order of pad thai standing at the kitchen counter, still in his suit jacket and tie, and then every bite of the sticky rice, and thought he'd never tasted anything better.

*

It was three a.m. when Matt stumbled in through the roof access door. He could feel his eye swelling shut, and the shoulder he'd dislocated and popped back in was throbbing. The suit had taken the worst of the flames, but the lower half of his face was raw and singed, and there was a gash in his thigh - not deep enough to need to stitches, not bad enough to go to Claire, but it hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

He staggered down the stairs and left the suit in pieces on the bathroom floor, pressed a towel to his thigh to stop the bleeding before bandaging it up. There'd be bloodstains on the towel, bloodstains on the tile floor, but it didn't matter. No one ever came into Matt's apartment but Matt.

He was bone-tired, but he wouldn't be able to sleep, not like this. Not hurting this bad. He needed to meditate, to push the pain back far enough that he could sink into blessed unconsciousness.

He sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, hands palm-up on his knees, fingers loose, and tried to empty his mind.

His shoulder throbbed. A dog barked half a mile away. Cigarette smoke threaded through the air outside. The bandage on his thigh pulled at his skin, a prickly counterpoint to the hot pulse of the cut beneath it. There was a thunderstorm coming, heavy on his skin. A jukebox blared. His eye ached. He couldn't concentrate.

Focus. Focus. Block it out. Peel away each piece of sensory information, one by one, until it was manageable.

His face was raw. His nerves were raw. He couldn't...he couldn't...

A heartbeat. Foggy's heartbeat, directly below him, steady and even. Asleep.

Matt focused on Foggy.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Steady. Even. Foggy never hurt anyone. Foggy made people happy. Foggy was an angel.

_Thump-thump._

Matt felt his own breathing even out, his heartbeat slow to match Foggy's. His muscles relaxed, unknotted and unwound, and his fingers stopped twitching. He still hurt, but it was manageable now, something he could fold up and put away while he slept.

He crawled into bed, not bothering to get dressed. His bed was over Foggy's, and he could feel Foggy's heart, vibrating up through the floorboards. He would count a hundred heartbeats, he thought, and then he'd be able to fall asleep.

He was out before he counted to ten.

*

It was still early, at least the way Matt gauged time. Eleven ten; eleven fifteen, maybe. There were people out on the street. There were _always_ people out on the street - "the city that never sleeps" was accurate - but this wasn't the motley skeleton crew of gangsters and homeless people and drunk college kids staggering home from the bar.

So when the bus's brakes failed, there were a few people who shouted "Look out!"

But there were only three people who moved.

The girl, twelve years old maybe, who turned, saw the bus barreling down at her, and froze, her heart pounding like a jackrabbit's.

The man, charging forward to push her to the safety of the sidewalk, leaving himself stranded in the bus's path.

And Matt, leaping from an alley and into the street to tackle him to safety.

They rolled across the asphalt. Matt tried to take the brunt of the impact, one arm around the man's waist, the other hand cushioning the back of his head. The bus screeched by and suddenly, miraculously, stopped as the brakes re-engaged. In the echoing silence between the engine cutting out and the noise of the street coming back up in response, Matt was able to focus on the man he'd saved, to see if he was okay.

Fast heartbeat. Healthy heartbeat. _Familiar_ heartbeat.

Familiar smell.

Familiar _voice_.

"Holy crap," Foggy breathed. "I...oh my God. Holy _crap_."

Foggy Nelson, the downstairs neighbor he'd never met, pinned beneath him with Matt's hand cradling his head, his heartbeat pounding against Matt's chest.

He smelled _amazing_.

"You're," Foggy said. Matt could feel Foggy's breath on his exposed chin. "You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"It's Daredevil!" said a bystander in the small crowd that had gathered.

"Is the girl all right?" someone else asked.

"He saved her!"

"The Devil saved _him!_ "

"Craziest thing I ever..."

"Did anyone get it on their phone?"

"...Hello?" Foggy asked. He tilted his head quizzically, and he was at the perfect angle...Matt could just lean down and...

Matt scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. "I..." He had to leave. There was a _crowd_ , there was _Foggy_ , he was supposed to be a shadowy figure who terrorized criminals, not...

He bolted.

"Hey!" Foggy shouted, climbing to his feet, and then - oh God, he was _running after Matt_ , was he _crazy_ , was he _stupid_ , Matt was _dangerous_ , what did he think he was doing?

Matt was faster, of course. He managed to put some distance between them, duck around a corner and then into an alley. He sprang onto a dumpster, caught the bottom of a fire escape and hauled himself up and over. Then he crouched, waiting.

Foggy's footsteps came closer and slowed outside the alley. Mentally Matt begged him to keep going, to try the next corner - but no, Foggy stopped, and turned into the alley. Matt could hear the hitch in his breath when he spotted Matt.

"You! Devil...guy."

Matt straightened up - no sense trying to hide anymore. "Most people call me Daredevil these days."

Foggy snorted. "Sounds like you're gonna jump Snake River Canyon on your rocket cycle."

Matt laughed, startled, then clamped his mouth shut. Shit.

"You saved my life," Foggy said.

"You saved that girl." Just like Matt had saved the old man. Foggy had saved a stranger and almost paid a terrible price too...but no, Matt had been there. It was okay. Foggy was safe.

"She needed help."

"So did you." Foggy didn't say anything and Matt tried not to fidget. Fidgeting didn't really go well with the whole "grim vigilante who stalks the night" persona. "Is there something else I can help you with?"

"No, I...sorry." A faint pulse of heat blossomed out from Foggy's direction. Was he _blushing?_ "I just wanted to say thank you, I guess. For saving me."

"Oh." Matt felt strangely warm, suddenly. "You're welcome." A distant siren caught his ear and he tilted his head, listening, not sure whether to be glad or disappointed for the interruption. "Stay out of the way of busses, sir," he said, and moved up the fire escape, flipping from level to level instead of using the ladder. 

It was just _faster_ that way. He wasn't _showing off_.

But he still smiled when he heard Foggy's whispered "Wow."

*

_"No one to talk with...all by myself...no one to walk with but I'm happy on the shelf..."_

Matt grinned as he slid a spatula under the fish sizzling in the pan and flipped it over. "Hey, a song I actually know for once. Thanks, Foggy."

_"Ain't misbehavin'...saving my love for you..."_ Under the singing, Matt could hear Foggy getting a plate out of the cabinet; taking a beer out of the fridge and the pop and hiss of the cap coming off. He'd just gotten his dinner delivered - Italian - and the scent of lemon and garlic and tomato wafting from below blended beautifully with the salmon Matt was cooking.

"You really should be having wine with that," Matt said. "A nice dry white, maybe." He had a bottle tucked away on the counter, but he couldn't open it tonight - he was going out, and Daredevil didn't need to be two glasses in when he did.

_"I know for certain the one I love...I'm through with flirtin', it's you that I'm thinking of...ain't misbehavin'_...hey, did they forget the parmesan? Ah ha, there you are!"

Matt laughed and slid the salmon onto his plate, next to a neat pile of brown rice and steamed vegetables. He squeezed a lemon wedge over the whole thing, turned off the stove, and sat. It was good - Matt knew his way around a kitchen - but the chicken picatta and baked ziti below were awfully tempting. "I should go downstairs. Ask you if you want to split our dinners. You don't get enough Vitamin A, I bet," he scolded lightly.

_"Your kisses are worth waiting for, baby...I don't stay out late, got no place to go...I'm home about eight, just me and my radio..."_

"All right, fine. Keep the ziti," Matt said. He heard Foggy's chair scrape back against the floor as he sat down, and raised his water glass in a toast. "Bon appetit, neighbor."

_"Ain't misbehavin'...saving my love for you!"_

*

"Listen, man, just empty the register and no one gets hurt, okay?"

Matt turned his head, listening. Three blocks away. The bodega on 53rd and 9th; a young man with a tremor in his voice that told Matt he was most likely out of his mind on something. Several panicked heartbeats.

"I said empty the fucking register!"

Matt booked it towards the bodega, trying to get a clearer picture of how many people were in there. He could get there before the guy started shooting, probably, but it would be harder to take him out if it was crowded. He picked out a young man; two women, one crying softly; the junkie; and...

"Hey, take it easy, okay? You don't have to do this."

_Foggy's voice._ Matt ran faster.

"Fuck off, asshole! I'll shoot you, I swear to fucking God!"

"There's no need to shoot anyone. Please, put the gun down." Foggy was scared. Foggy was _scared_. "Look, he's emptying the register. No one has to get hurt tonight."

Matt turned the corner. Noise, noise, he had to make noise, he had to draw the guy's fire.

He fumbled for the billy club at his hip and hurled it through the window. The sound of shattering glass nearly drowned out the sound of everyone turning to look at him - and then gunshots, shattering the air, echoing around him.

"Get away, Satan! You're not taking me! I'll fucking kill you before I let you take me!" The junkie’s heart hammered so fast Matt was mildly surprised it didn't burst - but at least he was shooting at _Matt_ and not at the civilians. Not at Foggy.

Matt cartwheeled, dodged the bullets, ducked under the junkie's arm, and - _wham!_ Laid him out with a right uppercut, so sweet and clean his dad would've wept to see it.

The gun skittered across the linoleum, and it was done.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked, though he already knew - there was no smell of blood in the air.

"Yeah," Foggy said. _Foggy._ He sounded breathless. "Thanks again, Daredevil."

"You shouldn't - " Sirens in the distance. Time Matt wasn't here. "Cops are on their way. Let them take your statements." He turned to the cashier. "Sorry about the window."

Before anyone could answer he was out the door. But instead of getting clear before the cops arrived, he went to the roof; listened as the sirens drew near, as the nutjob was taken into custody and the witnesses were taken to the precinct to give their statements. He followed the car with Foggy and the crying woman in it and listened to him tell her stupid jokes until she calmed down. Then he waited on the roof of the precinct - even though he _knew_ just how stupid that was - until Foggy was let out, and followed him back towards home. _Their_ home.

Foggy, it seemed, was a magnet for danger. Matt was going to make sure he got home safe.

They were about three blocks away from their building when Foggy stopped walking. Matt could sense him turning slowly, his heartbeat slightly elevated, like he'd heard something that had alarmed him. But there was nothing out of the ordinary nearby, nothing he should've been able to hear that Matt couldn't, so what...?

"Do you normally follow the people you save home, or am I special?"

_Oh._ He'd heard _Matt_.

Matt didn't move, uncertain, and Foggy sighed. "Would you just come down here and walk like a normal person? I know you're there." His tone went a little more hesitant. "At least, I'm really really _hoping_ that's you, and not a knife-wielding lunatic or something. Or that I'm not just imagining things and standing here talking to myself."

Matt should go. He should back off, making his way across the roofs as silently as possible, until he was out of Foggy's earshot, and go find someone who actually needed Daredevil. They were _three blocks_ from their building - Foggy could make it from here. He did it every day without Matt babysitting him.

And actually _talking_ to him could only cause problems for Matt. No, he needed to be gone, now. He should have been gone when the police showed up.

He cartwheeled off the roof, bounced lightly down the windowsills, and landed in front of Foggy. "You're not talking to yourself."

Foggy's heartbeat skittered, fast, but there was no whiff of fear to accompany it. "Well, good." Matt sensed him tilting his head. "Were you going to answer my first question?"

"Which was...?"

"Why are you following me?"

Matt hoped the mask hid as much of his face as he thought it did. "Maybe we were just going in the same direction."

He should've known that wouldn't wash with a lawyer, especially one as sharp as Foggy. "Nice try. Why are you following me, _Daredevil?_ "

"I don't usually have to save someone's life twice in a week," Matt said. "You lead a risky life, Mr...." He caught himself before he said "Nelson," but only just.

"Nelson," Foggy said. "Foggy Nelson. And I was just trying to buy a freaking Snapple, I didn't invite that junkie to come in and start waving a gun around."

"You didn't have to antagonize him."

"I was trying to talk him down! I knew what I was doing!"

"Like you knew what you were doing when you nearly got hit by a bus?"

"I did the same exact thing you did!" Foggy snapped, and Matt froze in horror for a minute before realizing that Foggy was referring to Matt saving _Foggy_ , not Matt's childhood accident. "I'm an _adult_ , I don't need you scolding me for..." He stopped and took a breath. "I'm sorry. I don't...I'm not sure how I feel about, you know, vigilantes, but this isn't what..." He paused again. "Thank you, was what I wanted to say. For saving my life. Again."

"You're welcome," Matt said, a bit surprised. He shouldn't be, though - apparently Foggy was big on thank yous.

"Can I ask you a question?" Foggy asked.

"Sure," Matt said easily - too easily, because from the warmth in Foggy's voice when he answered, he was smiling. He'd seen through _that_ ruse.

"But that doesn't mean you'll answer. I get it," Foggy said. "Don't worry, I'm not asking for your Social Security number or anything. Just...why do you do it? The whole..." An expansive gesture towards Matt. "Why?"

It shouldn't have been a surprising question. Claire asked Matt that on a regular basis, and Karen had, the night he'd saved her from the Union Allied nut. Matt asked _himself_ all the time.

"Why did you push that girl out of the way?" he asked.

"Hm," Foggy said. "Okay. Fair enough."

And then they were just standing there on 10th Avenue, silent and vaguely uncomfortable, and the absurdity of it all started to sink in. "This...I should..." Matt said, and took a step back.

"Do you drink coffee?" Foggy blurted out.

Matt stopped. "What?"

"Do you drink coffee?" Foggy said again. "Or...or tea, I don't know, hot chocolate."

"That's two questions now," Matt said, and couldn't help smiling. Well, smirking.

"Oh, the man can count," Foggy said, but he sounded amused. "Well, brace yourself, hot shot, because here comes number three. I'm trying to ask if I can buy you a cup."

Matt's jaw dropped for a second, which was embarrassing, but judging by Foggy's racing heart and the wave of heat coming off of him, he wasn't the only one. "Uh," he said.

"Just as, you know, a thank you," Foggy said. "And, I mean, you're out all night, you could probably use a pick-me-up."

"I..." Matt made an effort and collected himself. "I do drink coffee, but I don't...I can't exactly go into a coffee shop like this." He gestured to himself, to his suit.

"You ever try?" Foggy asked. "You might be able to get a free drink out of it. You're building yourself a little fanbase, you know."

Matt almost asked if Foggy was part of that fanbase, then caught himself. He knew Foggy's opinions on vigilantes. "I...no," he said. "I mean, thank you for the offer, but..."

"It doesn't have to be a coffee shop," Foggy said. "I could...oh, I know! Tomorrow night, midnight. Meet me on the roof of my building. 664 10th Avenue."

Oh, Matt knew where Foggy lived. "The roof?"

"Yeah, all the tenants have rooftop access, not that anyone ever does anything with it. Mostly it's supposed to be for the people on the top floor but that's only two apartments and Fran in 6B won't be up there. I've never met the guy who lives above me but Fran said he's blind, so I doubt he'll be gallivanting around the roof at midnight."

If he only knew. "You're probably right," Matt said.

"I assume getting there won't be a problem for you?" Foggy asked, his tone arch.

Matt bit back a laugh. "No," he said. "No, it won't be a problem. Not that I said I was coming, of course."

"Well, I'll be there," Foggy said. "You can show or not, but..." He shrugged. "I make a mean cup of joe."

"I'm sure you do," Matt said. Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to go. It would be _colossally stupid_ to go, to stand on his own roof and let his brilliant _lawyer_ neighbor get a good look at his face - well, part of it - and an earful of his voice. Besides, he had other things to do - people to save, crimes to stop.

But he let out his devil's smile, just to see if it made Foggy's heart speed up.

It did.

"Get home safe, Mr. Nelson," he said.

"It's only three blocks," Foggy said, turning to glance over his shoulder, and Matt took the opportunity to go for the drainpipe of the nearest building, hand over hand until he hit the roof. "I'm sure I can...and you're gone." Foggy laughed into the quiet night. "I bet you can still hear me, you jerk. You’re probably just lurking up there. Tomorrow night, midnight. Don't forget."

Matt smiled against the darkness. No, he wouldn't be there.

But he wouldn't forget, either.

*

"Hey, you made it!"

From the sound of Foggy's voice, he was smiling. Matt struggled to keep his own expression neutral. "I can't stay," he said.

"Oh, me neither," Foggy replied easily. "I have court in the morning. I mean, I'm pretty junior so I'm just supposed to sit there and look pretty, but still. That's why this is only half-caf." He held up a thermos radiating warmth and gave it a gentle shake. Liquid swished inside. "I hope that's okay."

"I...yes," Matt said. "That is..."

"Here, hold these." Foggy stepped right into Matt's personal space and thrust his hand at him. Matt nearly threw up a block before he realized Foggy was holding two mugs, looped onto his fingers by the handles like rings. Matt took one in each hand. "I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, but _I_ like cream and sugar and there's only one thermos, so you'll have to deal."

"That's fine," Matt said automatically, and then, "Wait. I didn't...I'm not staying."

Foggy was already unscrewing the lid of the thermos. "Ten minutes. Five, even. How long does it take to drink a cup of coffee?"

"Mr. Nelson..."

"Foggy."

"Foggy." Matt bit back an unexpected swell of pleasure at being able to call Foggy by name to his face for the first time. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but...why do you want me to stay?"

Foggy's heart rate and temperature both went up at the question, but he went ahead and poured coffee into both mugs anyway. "You know, I spent all day asking myself that same question?" he said. "And I decided there were two reasons. See, I don't like vigilantes."

"...Oh." Matt tried not to tense _too_ visibly. Could this be a trap, somehow? Maybe Foggy had called the police...but no, Matt would have known if there was anyone else on the roof.

"At least, I don't on paper," Foggy went on, capping the thermos and putting it down by his feet. He took one of the mugs out of Matt's hand. Their fingers brushed as he did, and even through his gloves, Matt could feel the warmth of Foggy's skin. "I'm a lawyer, which you probably picked up from the whole 'I have to be in court tomorrow' thing. That was me subtly trying to impress you, by the way."

Matt couldn't help smiling. Oh, this was bad. He'd lost complete control of his facial expressions around Foggy. "Oh, is that what that was?"

"We can't all backflip out of helicopters," Foggy said, and Matt snorted. "Anyway, I don't always… _love_ everything my firm does, I admit it, but I believe in the law. We have a justice system for a reason. _That's_ what's supposed to keep this city safe, not masked men."

Funnily enough, Matt agreed wholeheartedly. It was just that he knew too well that the justice system didn't always work. "But...?" he prompted. Please, let there be a "but."

"...But when one of those masked men saves my life twice in a week, I think it's only fair to give him the benefit of the doubt," Foggy said. "I just...look, maybe this is presumptuous, but I don't know you from Adam. You could be the goodest samaritan in the land, or you could be one bad day away from throwing people off buildings for jaywalking. I guess I was just kind of...hoping to get to know you a little better? Don't worry, I'm not asking for your name or anything," he said quickly. "But I'd sleep better at night if I had a better sense of where the line is for you. That's all."

Matt tilted his head, considering. It was presumptuous, really - he saved Foggy's life, _twice_ , and now Foggy was demanding a personality profile?

Well, not really _demanding_. More bribing him with coffee and being incredibly charming about digging deep into intensely personal questions about ethics and justice. He must be an _amazing_ lawyer.

"You said there were two reasons," he said.

"Yeah. Well. Uh. Not that I can see much of you in that get-up, but from what I can tell? You're _really_ cute," Foggy said, and took a sip of coffee. "So, you know, if that's a problem for you, I'm putting it out there right now."

His tone was flip, but his heart was racing. Matt could hear it. If he reached out and wrapped his hand around Foggy's wrist, he'd be able to _feel_ it too, drumming through Foggy's skin. If he put his lips to Foggy's throat, he'd practically be able to _taste_ it.

Instead, he lifted his mug and took a sip. Foggy was right - he _did_ make a good cup of coffee.

"Well, I wasn't really going for _cute_ when I designed it," he said, and his voice was flip, too. "But it's not a problem for me."

"Well," Foggy said, and Matt knew, he just _knew_ that Foggy was smiling. "Good."

*

Matt woke when Foggy's alarm went off. He sighed, stretched...and smiled in the vague direction of the ceiling as he listened to Foggy grousing sleepily at the alarm before turning it off.

He'd had coffee on the roof with Foggy again last night. The first night, they'd argued - mostly good-naturedly, but still arguing - about corruption in the NYPD, and the dissolution of SHIELD, and who should regulate the Avengers, if anyone. Last night, though, Foggy had sighed as he poured the coffee and said, "Do you mind if we leave the heavy stuff for another time? I had a hell of a day at work and I'm exhausted."

So Matt had asked him about work. It turned out that Foggy had a _lot_ of moral reservations about what went on at his law firm, Landman and Zack, and was becoming increasingly pessimistic about his ability to change things from within. He also did what Matt had to imagine were dead-on impressions of the soulless partners at the firm. He'd been bright and funny and charming, even while complaining, and he wanted to use the law for _good_. Matt had been about two seconds away from asking Foggy to come be his law partner, but he really didn't have enough work to justify two attorneys - and besides, Foggy didn't _know_ Matt was a lawyer. Foggy still called him Daredevil - or "Hornhead," once, which made Matt snort into his coffee.

Foggy hadn't gone downstairs until long after the coffee was gone, and he'd squeezed Matt's arm and thanked him for listening to him gripe. Matt stood on the roof for a long time after Foggy was gone, smiling at nothing and listening to Foggy make his way down the stairs and back into his apartment.

Then he'd gone out and stopped two robberies before sneaking into his own apartment and falling asleep to the soft sound of Foggy's snores from below.

Now he listened as Foggy's footsteps creaked across the old pre-war floorboards; as the taps in his shower squeaked on and water drummed on the enamel tub, and - a softer sound - on Foggy's skin. "What's today's song, Sinatra?" he asked, tucking his hands under his head and waiting.

But Foggy didn't sing. A minute later, he _did_ start making recognizable noises - but they weren't music.

Matt's breath caught in his throat. He could hear the slick, rhythmic sound of wet skin on skin, and Foggy's own hitching breath, ragged and eager. Matt's senses couldn't quite build a radar picture of Foggy at this distance, which was probably for the best, but he could imagine it: Foggy's head bent against the spray of the water, his hand stroking steadily.

It wasn't the first time Matt had heard someone else masturbate - he'd spent his adolescence in the boys' wing of an orphanage, after all, and lived in a dorm in college. Over the years he'd gotten good at tuning out sex sounds, solo or partnered. He'd had to, for his own sanity.

But his ears refused to refocus on anything else. Every time he managed to pick up a dog barking outside or the screech of brakes, Foggy would let out a gasp or a soft whimper, and Matt was all but right there in that shower with him. He could tell how fast Foggy was going; he could make out every moan or muffled curse.

He should leave, like he had when Foggy was with Marci. He should throw on clothes and go hide out on the roof, where he might be far enough away to drown it out. He could even get to work early for a change, if he got himself out the door in the next five minutes.

But he didn't move.

He couldn't help wondering who Foggy was thinking of. Marci? Matt had only heard her the one time, and he didn't think Foggy would have asked Matt out for coffee if he was seeing someone seriously, but he'd sounded like he was enjoying himself when she was over. He could be thinking about Marci. Or someone Matt didn't know. Or no one in particular.

It was highly unlikely that he was thinking about Matt, but _oh_ , Matt wanted to believe he was.

Foggy's breathing became more urgent and Matt turned his head to press his face into the pillow as if it could muffle the _want_ in him. He wanted Foggy to be thinking about kissing Daredevil; he wanted Foggy to be thinking about Daredevil sinking to his knees.

He wanted Foggy to be thinking about being with _Matt_ , up here in his bed, even though Foggy didn't even _know_ Matt.

Foggy let out a groan that rippled through Matt, unmistakably his release, and Matt gave up and shoved a hand into his underwear. Looked like he was going to be late to work after all.

*

"...so I told Johnson, if front of everyone, that if the judge had any sense, she'd hold _him_ in contempt the minute he walked into the courtroom, just for being a slimy weasel," Foggy said. "I probably shouldn't have, but God, the look on his face was worth it."

"Mm," Matt said. Foggy smelled like chocolate chip cookies from City Bakery, the coffee they were drinking, and crisp, fresh laundry, rather than the faintly stale sweat-scent of clothes he'd been wearing all day. He'd changed for this, and into something nice, not casual after-work clothes; Matt could hear the brush of a tie against his chest.

It was incredibly distracting.

"I might get fired," Foggy said. "I mean, I think the partners know I'm more of an asset to the firm, but Johnson's a kiss-ass. It's a possibility."

"Uh-huh." What would Foggy smell like without any laundry scent at all, old or new? Just vanilla and brown sugar, coffee and nutmeg. Irish Spring soap. Gillette shaving cream.

 

Sweat.

Arousal.

"I could end up homeless," Foggy went on.

"Great." Matt wondered for the thousandth time since he'd heard Foggy in the shower three mornings ago what he'd been thinking of. Who. If it had been Matt, and what he might dream about Matt doing. "That's great."

"...Yeah, you're not listening at all," Foggy said. "Great job keeping up the small talk, though, I barely even noticed."

Matt blinked. Whoops. "I...uh. No, no, I was listening!" Foggy didn't say anything, and Matt had a feeling there was a wry expression being directed his way. "I may have gotten a little...distracted."

"You know, most people find me very captivating," Foggy said, but he sounded more amused than annoyed. "Look, don't worry about it. You're probably worrying about a bank robbery or someone tying the sheriff's daughter to the railroad tracks or something. Go, be a hero."

"No, I..." There probably _was_ some crime to stop, somewhere just out of range of Matt's hearing, but the last thing he wanted to do was leave. "I wasn't thinking about that."

"That jaywalking epidemic, then. People cutting tags off their mattresses willy-nilly." Foggy put a hand on Matt's shoulder. He was warm even through the suit. He was all Matt could smell. "Seriously, it's _fine_ \- "

Matt kissed him.

Foggy made a small, startled noise against Matt's mouth. It was more of a vibration than a sound; hell, it was practically a _taste_. Matt wanted to drown in it.

Instead, he pulled back, to give Foggy a chance to breathe. "That," he said, and was surprised by how rough his own voice sounded. "I was thinking about _that_."

He waited. Foggy's heartbeat raced in his ears, jazz in allegro.

Then Foggy grabbed him by the horns, _literally_ , and kissed him back.

Matt melted into it. Foggy kissed even better than he bantered and _much_ better than he sang, though with the same kind of confident joy. His hands slid over the curve of Matt's skull and around to the sides of his face; his thumbs stroked the edges of the cowl where it cut across Matt's cheeks. They were warm and lightly callused and Matt could feel Foggy's pulse through them.

He wanted to feel Foggy's pulse _everywhere_.

He was about two seconds away from recklessly tugging off the cowl to get started on just that when he heard it. A silent alarm, six blocks away, broadcasting at a frequency only Matt and the highly sensitive equipment at the precinct could hear.

And a scream.

He pulled back. He couldn't see if Foggy was flushed, but he could feel the extra warmth radiating off of him, and hear that still-racing heartbeat. "I have to go."

"I...oh," Foggy said, sounding crestfallen. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No!" Matt said, too quickly. "No, it's not you, there's...I know this sounds crazy, but trust me when I say there's an emergency. You're..." He gave in to the weakness for a second and tipped his forehead forward to rest it against Foggy's. "You're wonderful."

"Oh," Foggy said again, but this one was a much better sound.

"Tomorrow night," Matt promised. "Midnight." He smiled. "I'll bring the coffee this time."

Foggy's hand was warm on his cheek, a brief touch. "It's a date."

Matt grinned deeper and - okay, yes, showing off a bit - bounded away to backflip off the roof, heading towards the source of the scream. It was nearly one now, which meant twenty-three hours until he could see Foggy again.

He couldn't wait.

*

It wound up being sixteen hours.

The break-in had taken longer for Matt to resolve than he'd thought and he hadn't made it home until four a.m. Work had crawled by, and he'd wound up leaving early after he'd zoned out on Karen for the third time in a row.

He stopped in the lobby when he got home to check his mail. It was probably his exhaustion that kept him from noticing the familiar heartbeat approaching until it was too late to bolt up the stairs.

"Oh!" Foggy said. "You're 6A, right? Mike Murdock, was it?"

Matt tried not to look visibly panicked. Why was Foggy home so early? Had he really gotten fired? Had he just had an early session in court? "Matt, actually," he said, making sure to pitch his voice into a slightly higher register than the one he used as Daredevil, and held out a hand.

"Sorry about that." Foggy took his hand. His bare palm on Matt's made the back of Matt's neck tingle. "Foggy Nelson. I live right beneath you, 5A."

“Nice to meet you,” Matt said. He let go of Foggy’s hand and then wasn’t quite sure what to do with his own. “I hope I’m not too loud up there.”

“No, you’re quiet as a mouse,” Foggy assured him. “Although I used to live below a tap dancer so my standards are probably pretty low. If you start getting too loud I promise I’ll put on my bathrobe and my hair curlers and bang on the ceiling with a broom to let you know.”

“That’s very thorough, I appreciate that,” Matt said. Foggy had to be able to hear his heart, Foggy didn’t have enhanced hearing but it was beating _so loud_ …

“Hey, if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” Foggy said. “Anyway, feel free to drop on down if you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar or whatever. Door’s always open. Not literally, of course, this is still Hell’s Kitchen and I like my TV where it is, but you know what I mean.”

“Right,” Matt said. “Thanks, Foggy. That’s very kind of you.” He forced himself to smile a normal, friendly, charming smile, like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.

And then he sensed it. Foggy’s own heartbeat picked up, just a little, and his body got a little warmer.

Attraction. He was radiating attraction at Matt, and it would be _so easy_ to make up some excuse to have Foggy come back up to his apartment with him, to lock the door behind him, to step in close to all that sweet-smelling warmth and kiss him. And Foggy was smart, he would recognize Matt’s kiss and he wouldn’t understand, not at first, but Matt could _show_ him, Matt could explain everything so that it all made sense, and then they could...they could…

“...Are you okay?”

Matt blinked behind his glasses. “What?”

“You, uh, kind of zoned out there a little bit,” Foggy said, and now his body language was all polite concern.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Matt said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Heading upstairs to take a nap, actually.” He heroically refrained from asking Foggy to join him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you,” Foggy said, and stepped out of the way of the stairs. “It was nice to meet you, Matt. Don’t be a stranger!”

He _wasn’t_ a stranger, Matt wanted to say. He knew Foggy’s real name and where he worked and what he bickered with his sister about on the phone. He knew what Foggy’s heart sounded like when he was happy or scared or sleeping. He knew that he’d risk his life for random people on the street and that he kissed like he meant it.

Matt swallowed. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and fled up the stairs.

*

“So, uh...anything interesting happen to you today?” Matt asked.

They were sitting on the roof, side by side. Foggy had taken to bringing up a beach towel, “so that we don’t get pigeon crap on our butts,” as he put it, and Matt was perched way at the edge of it, as far from Foggy as he could get without being obvious about it. He felt absurdly skittish, like Foggy was going to level a finger at him and accuse him of being his reclusive neighbor at any moment. Half of him wanted to make up an emergency that needed Daredevil’s attention and flee.

The other half wanted to pin Foggy to the towel and chase the coffee taste from his mouth, but for now, he was keeping that in check.

“Not really,” Foggy said. “Oh - I gave a dollar to a busker who was playing ‘No Diggity’ on the bagpipes on the subway. It felt like he’d earned it.” He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. The soft sound made the hair on the back of Matt’s neck stand up. “Okay, from now on _you_ bring the coffee. This is amazing. How did you even get it here?”

By walking up the stairs while he could still hear Foggy getting ready below him. “Sorry. Trade secret.” He drummed his gloved fingers on the side of his own plastic travel mug. He knew he shouldn’t pick at this, but he couldn’t help it. He desperately wanted to know what Foggy thought of him - the _real_ him. “So that was it? Just the busker?”

“Yeah, I mean, work was work. Nothing to write home about. You’re the one who lives a life of mystery and intrigue, not me,” Foggy said. “Why?”

Matt shrugged. “No reason. I just like hearing about, you know. Your life. You.” He heard Foggy’s heartbeat pick up, a pleased reaction, and pushed back a twinge of guilt. It _wasn’t_ a lie. He _did_ like hearing about Foggy. “So, you know, if you won a case, or met anyone new, or…”

“Oh, well, actually, I finally met the guy who lives above me. You know, the one with the sweet rooftop access?”

“Oh?” Matt had no idea what his facial expression was doing. He hoped the mask hid most of whatever it was.

“Yeah, we were getting our mail at the same time. So I’ve now officially met all my neighbors. I should start a knitting club or a potluck or basement cock fights or something.”

“Pretty sure one of those is illegal.”

“All right, fine, no potlucks.”

“So what was he like? The famous Mr. Rooftop Access?” Matt asked.

Foggy paused, and Matt wondered for a panicked moment if he’d prodded too much, if Foggy had picked up on how invested he was in this and put two and two together. He knew Foggy was smart; he could only push this so far before Foggy started getting suspicious.

“Nice, I think,” Foggy said finally. “I don’t know. It was a short conversation. He seemed…” Matt sensed his shrug. “A little sad?”

“...Oh.” Did Matt come off sad to other people? Was _that_ what his face did?

_Was_ Matt sad?

“There. Satisfied?” Foggy asked. “Here’s what I will be writing in my diary tonight: Dear Diary, today I rocked out to some bagpipes, met my upstairs neighbor, and had a tawdry assignation with a masked vigilante on my roof.” He put his cup down, very deliberately. “Come on, Daredevil. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

Oh. _Well._

Matt put his coffee down too, and moved across the towel, into the warmth of Foggy’s radius. Finding out more about what Foggy thought of his neighbor could wait. Daredevil was on a mission.

*

_“I know too well that I’m just wasting precious time in thinking such a thing could be...that you could ever care for me…”_

Matt never used to wake up smiling.

Foggy’s shower made a soothing counterpoint to his voice - still not a good one, Matt knew objectively, but familiar now, and happy, and he was starting to think that was more important than technical prowess. Matt’s alarm went off and he shut it off quickly, but otherwise didn’t bother to move. He’d get up when the song was over.

_“You’d be so easy to love...so easy to idolize, all others above...so sweet to waken with…”_

Someday, Matt thought. Someday he’d explain everything, and they wouldn’t have to meet on the roof anymore, or keep things confined to semi-chaste kisses. No, he could bring Foggy up here, and tug off the cowl, and Foggy wouldn’t think he looked sad, because how could he be with Foggy in his bedroom?

Someday he’d tell the truth, and Foggy would understand.

_“So try to see your future with me…‘cause you’d be oh, so easy to love.”_

The shower turned off a minute later, and Matt sighed and got out of bed. He scrubbed a hand across his face as he stumbled towards the bathroom, trying to judge if he needed to shave or if he could let his stubble go for another day. Biting back a yawn, he turned on the water.

And the knob came off in his hand.

For a minute he just stood there, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Cold water rushed into the tub, pounding against the enamel. The knob was a heavy weight in his hand.

Shaking his head as if it would help fix this somehow, he leaned down and tried to just sort of… _push_ the knob back into place. It didn’t fit, and he couldn’t get enough of a grip on what was left to turn it and thus shut the water off.

Shit. Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave the water running all day, and he had no idea how to fix this. He could call a plumber, or the landlord could do it...but the landlord lived in a building a block or two over, and Matt wasn’t sure he actually had his number. He had an automated rent payment sent out from his bank account every month and that was the extent of his interaction with the man.

Downstairs, Foggy was whistling.

Foggy. Foggy knew everyone in the building, and half the people in Hell’s Kitchen besides. Foggy _definitely_ had the landlord’s number. But he’d be out the door and on his way to the office in five minutes…

Four minutes later, Matt was knocking on Foggy’s door in pajamas and sneakers, armed with glasses and cane, his teeth hastily brushed and his hair smoothed down into what he hoped was some semblance of normalcy. He heard Foggy’s footsteps crossing the floor, heard his heartbeat getting closer, and tried not to look sad. Apologetic, but not sad.

“Matt? Uh, good morning,” Foggy said, sounding cheerful but confused. “What’s up?”

Matt gave him a sheepish smile. “Hi. I know you didn’t mean it _literally_ when you said to drop by if I ever needed anything, but, uh, do you have our landlord’s number? I’m having a bit of a plumbing issue.” He held up the cold water knob as proof.

“Oh, shit,” Foggy said.

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction.”

“No - I mean, yes to that, that is definitely worthy of an _oh shit_ , but...Joe’s in Florida,” Foggy explained. “Visiting his mom. He won’t be back for another week.”

Matt gave up trying to look perky. “You’re kidding.” He sighed. “Know of a good plumber in the neighborhood?”

“Three, actually, but hey - why don’t I take a look at it?” Foggy suggested. “I mean, I’m not a plumber, but I’m pretty handy. My dad owned a hardware store when I was growing up. I’ve forgotten more about bathtubs than I ever wished to know.”

“Oh. Uh. Won’t you be late for work?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Foggy said breezily. “I’d rather be an hour late than have your bathroom flood until my ceiling starts leaking.” Matt blanched, guilty, and felt Foggy’s hand on his arm. He was wearing a t-shirt and Foggy’s palm landed on his bare skin, warm and friendly. “Oh man, look at your face. I’m _kidding_. This isn’t your fault.”

He withdrew his hand. Matt told himself his arm didn’t feel cold.

“Well, uh, thank you,” he said, and made himself smile. “This is really nice of you.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Hang on, let me - do you have any tools upstairs?” Foggy asked, and Matt shook his head. “Okay, yeah. Let me get mine.” He returned a minute later with a box in one hand, one that made a dull jangly sound when he moved. “All set. Lead on, Macduff. And yes,” he added as he closed his door behind him, “I know that’s a misquote.”

Matt couldn’t help smiling, for real this time. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I appreciate that. There are more pedantic jerks on heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Oh, I’m _definitely_ a pedantic jerk,” Matt said, leading the way up the stairs. “I just figured we should get to know each other before I started correcting your Shakespeare.”

Foggy laughed, and Matt felt briefly triumphant before remembering that he _shouldn’t_ be getting to know Foggy, at least not like this. Or, rather, he shouldn’t be letting Foggy get to know _him_. Let Foggy get to know him, and Foggy might just figure out that his quiet upstairs neighbor was also their not-so-friendly neighborhood vigilante. There was a _reason_ Matt had made a point not to socialize with the people in his building.

But just like the time Foggy had confronted him as Daredevil - _both_ times Foggy had confronted him - Matt found himself wanting to charm Foggy, not avoid him.

The man was clearly dangerous. Stupid broken bathtub.

“Wow, this is nice,” Foggy said when Matt opened the door. “You have tons of space. A little sparse, though. Although I guess you probably don’t need to hang art or whatever. Sorry, is that offensive?”

“It’s fine,” Matt said. “Though you should see it at night.” There was an awkward pause as Foggy’s temperature ratcheted up. Whoops. That had probably sounded like a line. “I mean, because of the billboard out the window. Your apartment’s probably angled low enough that it’s not an issue, but I have been told that it turns my living room into a, and I quote, ‘dystopian hellscape.’” Of course, the fact that he’d been bleeding out on the couch at the time had probably added to Claire’s impression of the living room, but Foggy didn’t need to know that part.

“Oh, yeah, I can see how that would be a problem.” There was another awkward pause as Foggy realized what he’d said. Funny how people got sensitive to words like “look” and “see” right after meeting Matt. “Right! So. The shower.”

“The shower.”

Matt led Foggy to the bathroom, where the water was still pouring wastefully into the tub, though thankfully continuing to drain without a problem. He stood back as Foggy took the knob from him, bent over and poked at the shower, and made a bunch of thoughtful noises.

He thought about having Foggy here, in his apartment, in his _home_ , and wondered how long it would take until Foggy’s scent stopped lingering in the air.

“Okay,” Foggy said finally. “The good news is that I am pretty sure I can jury-rig a solution for you so that you can not only turn off the water right now, but you can actually _use_ your shower, if you’re gentle when you, uh, twist the knob.” He coughed, exuding warmth again. “Also as a lawyer I would suggest you not rig juries in any other situation.”

“As a fellow lawyer, I try not to,” Matt said.

“Oh, you’re a lawyer?” Foggy asked. “What kind of - no, wait. Stick a pin in that. The shower.”

“Right,” Matt said. “I assume if that’s the good news, there’s a bad news corollary?”

“Yeah.” Foggy straightened up with a slight groan that made Matt’s skin prickle. “It’s a temporary fix at best. Your whole setup here is basically toast. Welcome to the joys of living in a pre-war building. What war, God only knows. French-Indian, maybe.” He opened up the toolbox, which he’d set on the toilet lid. “But I think I can keep you covered at least until Joe gets back, and then he can wrangle a proper plumber for you.”

" _Thank_ you," Matt said, and he didn't have to fake the gratitude. "Can I...I don't know, can I get you something to drink while you work your magic? Coffee, water, uh...beer, I guess? I don't have much in the way of libations."

Fogg chuckled. "No need to go to any trouble. Coffee would be great if you've already got a pot on."

"Sure." Matt didn't, but he would've in a few minutes anyway. None of the seven coffee shops between his apartment and work knew how to brew a decent cup. "Be right back."

By the time he'd returned with the coffee, Foggy had gotten the water shut off and was doing something mysterious to the bit of the handle still sticking out of the tile. "Hey, thanks," he said when Matt handed him a cup.

He took a sip, then paused. Matt wasn't sure what to make of what Foggy's heart was doing.

"Wow, this is exactly how I like it," Foggy said finally. "Are you a mind reader?"

Shit. _Shit._ He only knew how Foggy took his coffee because of their rooftop dates. Hell, he'd even _made_ this coffee for Foggy, just last night. "Just a lucky guess," Matt said, trying to sound breezy. "You know what they say. One sense goes and the rest get stronger." Maybe reminding Foggy that he was blind would throw him off the scent.

Foggy laughed. "Well, if the lawyer thing doesn't work out, you've got a potential backup career as a barista. Or one of those bartenders who makes a specialty cocktail for each customer based on their tale of woe."

"Living the dream," Matt said, trying not to sound too relieved at having distracted Foggy. He perched on the closed toilet. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah. But you could entertain me," Foggy said, putting his coffee cup down on the sink and turning back to the shower. "What kind of law do you practice?"

They chatted about work while Foggy fussed with the shower. It was nice being able to actually _tell_ Foggy things about his job, instead of just making sympathetic noises when Foggy complained about stodgy judges and endless paperwork. Talking to Foggy was easy, as always, and Matt had lost track of time when Foggy finally stood up, gave the shower knob a careful twist, and successfully turned the water on and then off.

“Well, that’ll do ya,” he said, tossing a screwdriver into his toolbox. “That’ll be three thousand dollars.”

Matt laughed and stood up. “Seriously, Foggy, thank you so much for this.”

“No problem. Let me know if it conks out on you again,” Foggy said. “And...thanks for the coffee.”

Matt licked his lips. For a moment he was seized with a wild compulsion to just say it: _I know how you take your coffee because I’m Daredevil. I know it’s hard to believe but it’s true. I can explain it all if you want, but mostly I just hope you can forgive me for hiding it from you, because I think you’re amazing, and I know you like me too, and now that you’ve seen my bathroom I really think this apartment tour should continue to the bedroom and stay there at_ least _until lunchtime._

But what he actually said was: "You're welcome."

And he walked Foggy to the door.

*

Now that he'd met Foggy formally, it seemed like he couldn't stop running into him. In the lobby, on the stairs, at the bodega on the corner or in line at the bank; he'd hear Foggy's familiar voice calling his name, and turn towards it with a smile that he had to remember not to make _too_ eager.

He met Foggy as Daredevil, too. Not every night, not even close, but the daytime encounters were enough to tide him over until he had Foggy in his arms again, warm where the night air was cool, all skillful lips and hands and laughter. They kept it relatively chaste, making out like teenagers for a stolen hour here and there. Matt didn't think Foggy wanted to do more than that in what was technically a public place, or while Matt was still wearing a mask.

Neither did Matt, not really. He wanted Foggy in his bed; he wanted to take his time. He thought about telling Foggy the truth every day, but all the explanations he came up with in his head sounded wrong - dishonest or implausible or just plain creepy.

A shipment of guns with armor-piercing bullets flooded Hell’s Kitchen, and Matt barely got a chance to see Foggy as Daredevil for nearly a month as he traced the guns to their source. He stayed out later than he should have, pushed himself further than was smart, but he _had_ to. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that his new suit wasn’t a big part of the reason the local criminals suddenly wanted armor-piercing bullets, and cops and civilians would pay the price.

The night he finally got evidence to Sergeant Mahoney that led to the arrest of two police captains and a city councilman, he’d been running on three days with no sleep. He left Mahoney at the crime scene and practically crawled back to his apartment. Stripped off the pieces of his costume, left them in a heap on the floor, and fell into a dead sleep on top of the covers.

Which was probably why he didn’t smell the smoke at first.

In fact, it wasn’t until the alarms started going off that he woke up. At first he just lay there, dazed, trying to figure out what was going on. It felt warm, as warm as midday, but the sounds from outside weren’t daytime ones. Everyone in the building was talking at once, a hundred agitated heartbeats, and he could barely _think_ with all the alarms blaring, and - 

Smoke. Smoke, and the crackle of fire, and burning wood and wires and melting rubber and _screaming_ \- 

Matt sat bolt upright, then clutched the sheets as the world swayed around him. A fire. A fire in the building, and he could hear a siren in the distance but it would take a good five minutes to reach them. He needed to get up; he needed to get out of bed and make sure everyone was safely out of the building.

He staggered to his feet. He was so tired he _ached_ , down to his bones, but sleep could wait. Someone in the building might need help. There were kids in the building, and that lady on the second floor with the walker, and _Foggy_. He had to make sure Foggy was okay.

His costume. His weary muscles throbbed at the thought of putting that heavy suit back on, but he couldn’t very well run around the building helping his neighbors as blind Matt Murdock. He dragged the pants off the floor, fumbled his way into them.

As he dressed, he stretched out his senses, listening to where he might be needed most. Listening for Foggy.

“Okay, Darnell, I need you to stay here with your mom and sisters for me. I have a very important job for you. There’s a firetruck coming and I need you to count how many firefighters are on it. Can you do that? Good boy.”

He was outside. Matt relaxed marginally as he struggled into his boots. Foggy was outside, he was safe, Matt could concentrate on his other neighbors.

Footsteps. “Luis! Did you get Mrs. Kowalczyk out? She has her walker? Okay, awesome, thanks buddy.”

That was Foggy. Why was Foggy back in the building?

“Where are you going, man? Don’t go upstairs!” That must be Luis.

“Gotta check on Matt in 6A. He might need help with the stairs. Don’t worry, we’ll be right down!”

Shit. Foggy was coming to check on _him_. Matt scrambled for the top of his suit, but it was all twisted from the way he’d yanked it off when he’d gotten home, and he was too tired to make sense of it.

“Matt! Matt, are you awake, buddy? Come on, answer the door!”

How was Foggy here already? Matt must’ve been moving slower than he thought. He straightened out the top sluggishly, feeling like he was underwater, or maybe pushing through quicksand. It was fine. The door was locked. He had time to get dressed and get out the roof access door.

...The roof access door. Matt always left it unlocked. He knew he shouldn’t, but it wasn’t like he could carry his keys in his suit. But there was no way for Foggy to know that; there’d be no reason for him to try to get in that way. Still, Matt should get out now, even though the suit wasn’t fully on, while there was still time. He gathered up his mask and gloves and stumbled out of the bedroom, shirt half on and boots unbuckled - 

\- just as Foggy burst in through the roof access door.

_Shit._

Foggy’s heartbeat had already been racing, but now it was going so fast it was genuinely concerning. “...Matt?”

Well. There was no getting out of it now.

“Hi, Foggy.”

“Uh.” Foggy took a few tentative steps down the stairs. “I don’t suppose you like to sleep in a Daredevil replica costume as some sort of weird but harmless kink, huh?”

“No,” Matt said, and then, “I was going to tell you.”

“Okay,” Foggy said. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it’s...um. I don’t…” He stopped and took in a deep breath. “The building’s on fire.”

“I know.”

“So we can...this is…” Foggy paused again. “We can discuss this when the building’s _not_ on fire.” Another pause. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” Matt felt like he might throw up.

“Do you want to...I said I was coming to get you, so you should probably, um, put on regular clothes and come with me or...or I can say you weren’t home, and you can go out the roof, or…?”

“Is everyone else out of the building?”

“I think so.”

Matt couldn’t hear any other voices inside; it sounded like everyone was on the street. The sirens were almost here, and the fire, from the sound and the smell of it, was far enough away from his apartment to give them a few spare minutes. “I’ll come with you.”

He stripped the costume off, trying to ignore the way Foggy’s temperature rose as he did, and threw it into his gym bag, along with a toothbrush and clean underwear. He didn’t want to risk losing it if the fire couldn’t be controlled - _or_ having the firefighters discover it. Foggy waited while he pulled on the first street clothes he found and grabbed his glasses and cane; Matt could hear him start to say something multiple times, then stop.

Matt slung his bag over his shoulder and slid his glasses on. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Foggy started for the door, then stopped. “Just so you know? Lying to me is one thing, but pretending to be blind is a truly shitty thing to do.”

Matt swallowed once, twice. It hurt. “I am. I am blind.”

“Sure.”

“I know it’s implausible, and you have no reason to believe me, but - ”

“You’re right,” Foggy said, cutting him off. “I don’t.” He unlocked the front door and held it open. “Let’s just get out of here before the fire reaches the stairs, okay?”

Matt went.

*

An electrical fire, the NYFD said - some kind of fault in the wiring. Apparently the building's electrical system was in as good shape as its plumbing. Matt was already putting together the lawsuit in his head, and he suspected Foggy was doing the same.

The firefighters got the flames out before they could do much damage to all but a couple of apartments, but they recommended that the tenants not stay in the building until they could do a thorough inspection. Matt got a small, threadbare room at a nearby hotel, just for the night.

So did Foggy.

Matt was still achingly tired. But this couldn't wait.

Foggy's heartbeat picked up when he opened the door to Matt's knock and saw Matt standing there, but his voice, when he spoke, was flat. "Oh. Hi."

"Can I come in?" Matt asked.

Foggy hesitated, and Matt half expected him to shout "No!" and slam the door in Matt's face. But instead he said "Okay" and stepped back to let Matt in.

Matt walked in and just stood there for a minute, twisting his hands around the handle of his cane. He had to be honest, totally honest, and Foggy still might not forgive him. But he had to try.

"When I was nine I was in a car accident," he began. "Truck, really. It was carrying these, these weird chemicals - we never really found out exactly what they were - and they got splashed in my eyes. Blinded me."

Foggy was absolutely silent. He smelled like smoke and worry. Matt pressed on.

"But they also… _enhanced_ my other senses. They...suddenly I could hear _everything_. I could _smell_ everything. Clothing against my skin was unbearable, food was overwhelming...I thought I'd go crazy."

He told Foggy everything. He told him about his dad, and the orphanage, and Stick. He told him about listening to sirens, and the day he couldn't take it anymore; about Karen, and Fisk, and Melvin making him the new suit. He told him things he hadn't told anyone, not even Claire. About how angry he got sometimes, how lost, how tired.

Foggy didn't say a word.

"I knew who you were, that night I pushed you out of the way of that bus," Matt said finally. His throat felt scratchy and raw. “I mean, we’d never...we’d never met. You know that. But I always…” He couldn’t help smiling, faintly. “You sing a lot. Usually in the morning. I liked listening.”

He heard Foggy take a breath. “Well, now I _know_ you’re a dirty liar,” Foggy said, and the amusement in his voice was distant but there. Matt eased up his death grip on his cane slightly. “I’m a terrible singer.”

“No, you were…” Matt couldn’t quite deny it. “I liked it.”

_I think I fell in love with you then_ , he didn’t say.

Foggy huffed a tired laugh, then sat down on the bed. The ancient springs creaked. “I don’t...I don’t really know what to say here. You lied to me, Matt. A _lot_. You…” He scrubbed at his face. “I felt so _guilty_ , because I liked you so much and it felt like I was cheating on Daredevil!”

“You. You liked me?” Matt asked. He knew it wasn’t the most important thing here, but he couldn’t help getting hung up on it. “Past tense?”

Foggy sighed. “I don’t know, Matt. I feel like I don’t even _know_ you. Not _this_ you.”

“You could.” He stayed calm. He had to stay calm. “You could _get_ to know me.”

There was a long silence, stretching out between them like a gulf Matt could fall into and never hit the bottom. “I don’t know,” Foggy said again. “Can I think about it? Is that okay? This is a lot, and also my house just burned down, and I just...I just need some time.”

“It didn’t _burn down_.”

“Matt.”

Matt nodded. Not the time for jokes. “Yeah,” he said, and tried, as he always did around Foggy, to school his face into something that wasn’t sadness. “Yeah, you can let me know.”

*

Foggy didn’t sing in the morning anymore.

Maybe Matt shouldn’t have told him; maybe he’d made him self-conscious. But they’d been back home for two weeks and he hadn’t heard Foggy sing once.

Or run into him in the hallway. Or talked to him.

He’d given Foggy his space. He didn’t try to apologize again or explain further; he didn’t attempt to “accidentally” bump into Foggy when he heard his heartbeat a block away.

He kept his distance. Because the sooner he spoke to Foggy, the sooner Foggy could tell him he’d thought about it, and he didn’t want Matt in his life. _Any_ Matt.

Today, though, he could hear Foggy. Not singing - coughing. He’d sounded sniffly for the past couple of days, but now he couldn’t seem to stop letting out long strings of wet, painful-sounding coughs. Matt was half-tempted to call Claire and make her pretend to be a door-to-door nurse.

“Yes, Mom, I just got back from the doctor,” Foggy said into his phone between coughs. It sounded like he was flopped onto his couch. Matt frowned at the floor. “He said it’s not bronchitis or anything, just a bad cold. All I need is rest and fluids. Yes, I’ll take the day off work tomorrow. _Yes_ , I’ll order soup. Love you too.”

He hung up, but he didn’t move, just let out a quiet moan. A few minutes later, Matt heard him mumble, “Soup, order thyself.”

Matt picked up the phone.

Foggy still hadn’t moved twenty minutes later, when someone rang his doorbell. He groaned again, and shuffled to answer it.

“Hi, Foggy.”

“Takashi? What are you doing here? I didn’t order…” Foggy dissolved into coughing. “Sorry. I didn’t order ramen.”

“Well, sounds like you need it, dude. Apparently your neighbor paid for it.”

“... _Huh_.”

Matt couldn’t tell what that tone in Foggy’s voice meant.

“Here.” The rustle of a plastic bag. “Take it before you give me your plague. It’s the spicy kind, it’ll blow out those sinuses good.”

“Thanks. Wait, let me get you a tip…”

“Nah, your neighbor got that too. Go, eat, I feel like I’m losing years of my life just looking at you right now.”

“You’re a dick,” Foggy said, but he sounded amused under the scratchiness and clogged sinuses. “See you around.”

“Bye.”

The door closed, and Takashi’s footsteps receded down the stairs. The bag rustled, as if Foggy was looking through it - probably seeing that Matt had ordered him enough to have leftovers tomorrow, too.

Matt bit his lip. Foggy wasn’t doing anything, just standing there by his door…

“Thanks, Matt,” Foggy said finally, and Matt let out the breath he’d been holding.

*

Foggy was coming upstairs.

It was five days after the soup delivery, and he was barely coughing at all. Matt was still keeping his distance, but he was relieved every time he heard Foggy take an unlabored breath.

Still, he hadn’t expected to hear Foggy’s heartbeat coming up the stairs Sunday afternoon. He scrambled to smooth out his hair and clothes, wondering if his apartment was a mess and if so, if there was time to do anything about it. Foggy probably wasn’t coming to see him, he was probably going to talk to Fran or take in some fresh air on the roof or something, but just in case…

Foggy knocked on his door.

Matt took several meditative breaths in an attempt to calm himself. They did nothing.

He opened the door.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Foggy said. His heartbeat was faster than usual, but that didn’t tell Matt much. “Can, uh. Can I come in?”

“Sure, yeah.” Matt stepped aside and let Foggy into the apartment. Foggy walked down the entrance hall and hovered uncertainly in the no man’s land between the living room and dining area. “What’s up?”

“Yeah, so…” Foggy rubbed the back of his neck. “I gotta tell you, Matt, it’s really kind of creepy to send your neighbors food because you’ve been using your bat ears to monitor the fluid in their lungs or whatever from your apartment.”

Matt’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Oh. I didn’t think...I didn’t. I. I’m sorry.” He made himself swallow. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Foggy gave sort of a short nod; an acceptance of Matt’s apology, maybe. “It _was_ really good soup,” he said.

Matt didn’t know what to make of that. Was Foggy angry at him or not? “You’re welcome?” he tried. “I...Foggy, I’m not totally sure what’s happening here.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I…” Foggy let out a puff of air; Matt could feel the faintest reach of it against his face. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. Pretty much exclusively, actually.”

“...Oh?” Matt said faintly.

“A lot of it was _furious_ ,” Foggy said, and Matt’s faint, flickering hope died again. “At least at first. I felt so...it’s _weird_ , Matt! You spent all this time _listening_ to me when I didn’t _know_ , and you think you know me, but you don’t! You just, you just _eavesdropped_.”

Matt nodded miserably. He did think he knew Foggy pretty well, from talking to him as much as from the eavesdropping, but arguing the point wouldn’t get him very far.

“But then I thought, well, you really couldn’t help it, could you?” Foggy went on. “I mean, I know all about the Stevensons’ marital problems, and it’s not because I _want_ to - it’s because their bedroom’s on the other side of the wall from mine and they like to have screaming matches when I’m trying to fall asleep.”

“I tried to tune it out,” Matt agreed. “Especially at first. I’m usually still asleep when you, uh. Are moved by the spirit of Fred Astaire.”

Foggy actually _laughed_. Matt’s hope blazed up again.

“Sorry about that,” Foggy said. “Except not really, because Fred Astaire was a genius and I welcome his spirit at any and all hours.” He shrugged, growing serious again. “And then I thought about when we met, and - I mean, I spent a lot of time talking about how I didn’t like vigilantes, didn’t I? How were you going to be like ‘By the way, I’m your neighbor’ with that kind of opening?”

“I should have found a way,” Matt said. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you, not after we...or I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Yeah, I mean, I _wish_ you had told me, but...I don’t know. I guess my point is just that I’ve been thinking a lot about what I would’ve done in your position, and I can kind of see why you made the choices you did.” His pulse became marginally faster. “And...I miss you.”

Matt was suddenly fervently grateful Foggy couldn’t hear _his_ heart. “You do?”

“Oh for the love of...stop it,” Foggy said, but he didn’t sound upset. In fact, he was radiating the kind of warmth that meant flushed pleasure. “How am I supposed to be a rational adult about this when you smile at me like that?”

“Sorry,” Matt said. But he didn’t stop smiling. “So does this mean…?”

Foggy took a deep breath. “This means that I think we should start over,” he said. “We take it slow. I get to know the real you; you get to know the real me instead of extrapolating from, like, my morning shower song choices and takeout addiction. What do you think?”

“Okay,” Matt said immediately. “Yes. Whatever you want. I’m...yes.”

_Thank you_ , was what he didn’t say this time, and tightened his hands into fists so they wouldn’t tremble. _I don’t know how to be good at this but Foggy, I’m gonna try so hard for you._

“Oh, _Matt_ ,” Foggy said, and for all his exceptional hearing, Matt couldn’t quite unpack everything in Foggy’s voice. There was sadness there, and worry, and something that sounded like pity, and normally Matt would’ve hated it.

But there was affection there too, and warmth, and Matt decided they could figure the rest of it out later.

“Whatever I want? Come on, don’t give me an opening like that,” Foggy said, soft and amused. He was still very close. “I am very mean and _will_ take advantage of it.”

“Objection,” Matt said. “I can’t get to know the real you if you start off lying.” Foggy laughed again, and Matt had to, he just _had_ to reach out and catch Foggy’s hand with his. “So...what happens now? With going slow?”

Foggy’s thumb stroked along Matt’s palm. “Well, it’s a beautiful day outside, and you desperately need to get out of this apartment for something besides work and punching people in the face. What say we go for a walk?” He leaned in again, conspiratorially. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s this new attraction a few blocks away, Central Park? It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Matt said. “Does it have any trees?”

“You know, I think it might. At least four.”

“Well, in _that_ case - I mean, three, forget it, but _four_ …” Matt grinned when Foggy laughed. “A walk sounds great.”

“See? I’ll civilize you yet, Murdock,” Foggy said.

Matt’s smile went rueful. “That might take more than a walk,” he admitted, and felt Foggy squeeze his hand.

“Yeah, I figured,” Foggy said, and his voice was so fond Matt could barely believe it was directed at _him_. “But I think you might just be worth it.” 

Matt could only nod. Foggy leaned in and kissed his cheek, and Matt swayed into his touch for a moment. He felt the soft exhale of a sigh and the touch of Foggy’s forehead to his own for a moment, like a benediction, and tried to figure out how a random Craigslist search for an apartment had landed him so great a windfall.

“Now come on,” Foggy said, drawing back and tugging gently on Matt’s hand, leading him towards the door, and the smile in his voice was as bright as any song he’d ever sung. “Let’s get you some sunshine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please to enjoy [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/poisonivory/playlist/5GMOyYddFyh3oapSdibbda) of all the songs Foggy (and Matt) sings in this fic, plus the title song. Fans of other superhero shows might want to pay special attention to "Easy to Love," sung by _Arrow's_ Colin Donnell. In other news: I super love showtunes, could you tell? Come talk to me about semi-talented but wildly enthusiastic former theater kid Foggy and how he's blaring #Hamiltunes constantly in the office these days much to Matt and Karen's annoyance. :D


End file.
